Contrast
Dear Monty, The garden has become a skid rink - a slippery surface of mud - much like many other gardens. Nature does her thing beyond our control. Rain, mud but no blood. Nothing lost Peace of mind is still intact Though battled and bruised And sometimes mistaken Wrong in fact. I bring to mind storms calmed by a voice But storms they are and were And ever shall be. Contrast One day of winter Frozen in a moment Sharp White A friend suggests capturing its light in a painting. With this thought at this very moment of writing The sun breaks through the clouds Like an answer That's right it says Reverberating inwardly Reverie? Like Monet in his garden. What does it matter if the earth was created in 6 days or 6 billion years ? What is a year ? What is time ? Yet another thing we try to pin down To quantify In order to be distracted from being We love counting. God is not a counter Not bounded by borders Not a respecter of persons. The trees froz...